You have molded the heavens with your hands, you ran your fingers to form mountain ridges. You uplifted the waters to move the waves. You punched the soil and made valleys. You scooped up dirt and made hills. You ran through the land, dragging a stick through the earth and made the rivers. You moved the ocean into the land and made lakes. Made mudpies, and they became swamps. Dried otu the dirt, and deserts were born. I have this image of God, you, playing all over your creation, to make all of these things happen. Joyful in your creation, you bounced around like a child. You transformed your drawings into fish and birds, monkeys and elephants. Breathed life into those masterpieces, as all sorts of animals began to walk the earth that you created. They explored and ate off of the trees and plants, drank of your water, and moved with joy.

Then, you made man. You crafted every vein in his body with purpose. You sculpted every muscle from the dirt. You covered it all in skin to protect him. And you took your breath and kissed man alive. In wonder, he looked around, not understanding what had just happened, and saw all of the creation moving and growing. And you proclaimed all of its goodness!

And then you rested. You watched your created ones get familiar with your creation. It was your playground and entertainment all in one. You delighted as man ate your fruit you provided and you were pleased as he named them. You laughed at his reaction when he saw a platypus for the first time. You were warmed in your heart as he freed a baby lion from thorns. Your curiosity was piqued when he saw his helper for the first time. You had surprised him, not told him that she was going to be made. He surveyed her beauty and she looked around the same way that he had, when you first breathed life into him. At night, you sang them to sleep with the birds and grasshoppers singing their song of praise to you. Your creation was all good, and it was peaceful. Days went by, and your joy was increased as you got to spend more and more time with them, they led you on tours of your creation, and they told you all about the things that they had learned about what you had made. You fell in love with them. You fell in love with this, all of your creation.

Then, came an intruder. It wasn’t a battle army from foreign land. It was an old rival that you had banished. He was once a part of your inner circle, but then he fell from your grace. He was conniving and jealous of you, wanted to be more than a worshipper of God, he wanted people to worship him because he knew you. So you banished him from your kingdom, and he took his own kingdom. He penetrated your garden. Slithered into the body of something you created. He slid across the dirt that you made and wrapped himself into your creation. He thought that he could talk to your beloveds, even though they were yours. He whispered words of adultery, and they tried to resist at first. Then they succombed to the pressure. The enemy said that they would have power unlike that which they had never had before. But you watched as the connection that you had with them was destroyed. You couldn’t believe it.

They were frozen, felt it immediately. The fruit had given them knowledge which they had never had before, but at the price of intimacy with you. He slithered away before the true effects of his victory were realized by them. The fruit, they abandoned as they responded in shame. Your heart was broken as they exprienced blame and anger at each other over what had happened. They realized they were naked, and needed clothing. YOu called out their name as you pushed the bushes aside, hoping against hope that they hadn’t really done this thing that you feared they had. You looked in their eyes, and it had. Your heart broke. The one limit that you had given them, they had broken. Your paradise was infected and the infection lay within them. There was no way that you could rescue them from this now. Later, perhaps, but not now. Not while your heart was breaking and bruised. Not while they began the journey out of your paradise.

It was all over. All for nothing. All of your dreams and all of your efforts were just wastes of time and effort. It was all for nothing. You tried something, gave of your heart to create something that would bring your joy, and it was all for nothing. Wasted. Futile. Anger swelled in your heart, they had done wrong. They must be punished. Food would no longer grow freely, man had to work at it now. Her body would no longer live in harmony, as you gave monthly pains to her. You sealed the garden when they left, now it was plagued in sin, it had been smudged and you had to clean it up. You would never let someone into your paradise again. Your anger covered up the fact that you were heartbroken, and they could not see that. All that they saw was your anger. Your heart was broken, your creation betrayed you. In your mercy, you could not destroy them because you loved them. So you let them live. But it would never be the same. Ever again.

You did not give up on them. One day, they’ll see that. One day, they’ll see your plan of restoration. But today is not that day. Today, you’ll nurse your broken heart. Today, you’ll cry and ache. Today, you’ll experience pain. So that you can give forgiveness.

I don’t even know how to start a letter to you. Words fail to captivate my heart in such a way that I feel like I want to write to you, and finish the letter.

Um, so, Hi?

There it goes, the awkward beginning. You, who knows more about me than I’ve ever shared before. You know some of my past, and I’ve shared more of my thoughts with you than I ever thought I would. And all I can offer you now is the most awkward beginning to a letter in the universe? Hi? That’s more like something you get out of a hit of the latest drug on the corner or the lid of the bottle, cold and unforgiving. Hi? The allure of too many pills, and snorts of powder until it enters the bloodstream to create a euphoria chain reaction in the mind, lifting you to outerspace.

If I were to begin a letter to you, I would begin with triumphant displays of affection, call you the face of modern beauty, the shape of soft curvatures, and the smell of peace and contentment. I would unashamedly declare my love for you, the steady roll of my heart to seek yours and the ever-present ache of my longing to be near you, to touch you. To wrap you in my arms, these arms of affection, of deep friendship and affection. These words of affirmation, that I would love to shout from the mountaintops, and sing into the hilltops, no matter where I am.

If I were to continue a letter to you, I would continue with my words of love, but speak words of honesty laced with love. Dripping with love. Honesty that tries to be friendly, but it is so honest that it slowly hurts you. It hurts me to say these words, thorns into your heart, but you know that they are true, and you know that if I did not love you, I would not say those words to you. I would tell you of your flaws and your failures, but you would know that I would not betray you or stray from you…but you’d know that I want you to know that these ripples in your pond exist, so that you can look at me with the same honesty and to share mine with me.

If I were to continue my letter to you, I would have written of the grand plans I have for us, the grand schemes I have in my hearts. Random days where I would want to be sweet to you, to remind you of my love for you. Scattered thoughts and dreams that I want to accomplish with you by my side. You would smile, thinking some of them silly, some of them moving, and you’d let me do them all, because that’s just what love compels you to do.

If I were to end a letter to you, I would thank you. I’ve always been so grateful that you’re here. I’ve always been so honored that you’ve entered my life. And when you left, I would still be thankful, although hurt, as I am now. I am grateful that you forced me to see the other side of the coin. You made me change some of my definition of love, you’ve taught me a little of what I am not, so that I can know more of what I am. Regret would not be a word that I would use to describe us, and I don’t think that I know the appropriate word, perhaps it doesn’t exist.

But I’m not writing a letter to you. I don’t know that it would be healthy to do so. I think I would mumble and fumble through the words, force them out of me. All I would be able to truly write were questions, but I don’t think you want me to know the answers to those questions, and I’m not sure that I truly want to know them. Since I’m not writing a letter to you, and you’re not the one reading it, I suppose these words are meaningless, and have no existence.